The three days since receiving the centaurs' prophecy had passed slowly. Now, finally, the time foretold in that cryptic warning had arrived—the fourth dawn had broken, and with it came the knowledge that today, everything would be decided.
Adrian woke before sunrise. He rose from his bed in the pre-dawn darkness and dressed. For three days he'd prepared, planned, fortified his defenses, and said his careful goodbyes. Now there was nothing left to do but face what was coming.
The castle around him was still quiet, most students and staff were still deep in sleep. Adrian moved through the silent corridors like a ghost, making his way not to the Great Hall for breakfast, he couldn't have eaten anything even if he'd wanted to but directly to his office to collect his enchanted suitcase.
Within minutes, he'd activated the portal and stepped through into his plantation.
The plantation greeted him with its characteristic perfect weather of clear blue sky, warm sunlight, a gentle breeze that carried the scent of growing things.
Everything looked peaceful, serene, utterly normal. If not for the tension in Adrian's chest like a living thing, he might have believed that the prophecy was nothing but superstitious nonsense.
For the past hour, Adrian had been patrolling through the plantation with vigilant attention, his magical senses were extended to their fullest reach, watching every corner of his sanctuary for any sign of intrusion or disturbance.
He checked each greenhouse, examined every ward and defensive spell he'd layered over the property during the past three days and before, tested the integrity of the protective boundaries that separated his pocket dimension from the outside world.
Everything appeared secure. Nothing seemed out of place.
Hogwarts had not experienced anything unusual over the past few days, there were no attacks, no infiltrations, no mysterious occurrences that might suggest Voldemort was preparing to strike. It was as if the Dark Lord had simply vanished from the face of the earth, leaving no trace of his presence or intentions.
Harry remained unconscious in the hospital wing, his condition was unchanged despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts and the constant vigil maintained by his worried friends. The boy's soul was still damaged, still trapped in that state between waking and true sleep, waiting for healing that only Voldemort's destruction could provide.
And John's whereabouts were still completely unknown, despite the Order of the Phoenix's continued and increasingly desperate search efforts.
The quiet Slytherin student or rather, the possessed shell that had once been a student had seemingly vanished into thin air after attacking Harry, leaving no trace behind. It was as if he'd been erased from existence, or hidden by magic so powerful that normal detection methods were useless.
This troubling situation left even Dumbledore at a loss, and that fact alone was deeply unsettling to Adrian. If the greatest wizard of the age couldn't locate Voldemort's current vessel, what hope did anyone else have?
Lost in these troubled thoughts, Adrian stopped beside the Tree of Wisdom to rest briefly. He placed his hand on the massive trunk, feeling the rough bark beneath his palm, and opened his mind to their connection.
The air here always seemed to soothe him, to bring him a sense of tranquility that was hard to find anywhere else. Through their bond, he could feel the Tree's presence.
Adrian drew comfort from that tree, even as another part of his mind continued to worry and plan.
However, everything was too calm, and this very calmness made him deeply uneasy.
The centaurs' prophecy would be no joke. Ronan wouldn't have sought him out personally, wouldn't have delivered such a specific and urgent warning, if the danger weren't real.
So where exactly would the danger come from? And when?
The prophecy had said "when night has fallen and departed thrice"—last night had been the third night. Which meant today was the day. But at what time? Morning? Afternoon? Evening?
The prophecy hadn't been specific about that crucial detail.
As Adrian pondered these questions, trying to anticipate every possibility, Dobby suddenly appeared beside him with the soft pop of Apparition. His normally cheerful expression was replaced by anxious concern, and he was clutching something wrapped in tattered cloth.
"Master," Dobby said quickly, his large eyes were wider than usual, "last night Dobby found this nearby while doing the patrol you asked for."
Adrian took the item from Dobby's small hands. He carefully unwrapped the tattered cloth, peeling back the layers with growing curiosity and concern.
Inside was half a piece of hardened bread, clearly old and stale, with tooth marks still visible along the edge where someone had bitten into it. The bread looked like it had been dropped or discarded, then carried some distance as there were bits of dirt and leaves stuck to it, and one edge was slightly damp as if it had lain in wet grass overnight.
A human item.
Food that could only have come from someone who'd been eating in the wilderness, surviving on meager rations.
Adrian's entire body went rigid with sudden alertness.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, his voice was sharp with urgency. "Exactly where, Dobby?"
"A wild wolf carried it over," Dobby explained, pointing with one small hand in a direction beyond the plantation's northern boundary.
"Dobby was checking the outer wards like Boss asked, and Dobby saw a wolf running with this in its mouth. Dobby tried to catch the wolf to see where it came from, but Dobby didn't catch it and the wolf escaped back."
Adrian furrowed his brow.
Since a wild wolf had brought the bread, that meant it had been dropped somewhere in the wilderness beyond his plantation's boundaries, probably not far, given that wolves didn't typically range over huge distances when scavenging. The animal must have found the bread recently and been carrying it as food.
Moreover, judging by the bread's freshness or rather, its particular state of staleness, it must have been lost within the last couple of days at most. Any older and it would be completely hardened or moldy. This was recently dropped, perhaps even as recently as yesterday.
The conclusion was deeply troubling.
Clearly, someone had been living or hiding in the territory surrounding Adrian's plantation, close enough that their discarded food could be found by local wildlife.
Actually, under normal circumstances, this wouldn't necessarily be a major concern. Muggles occasionally wandered into this area despite the remote location, hikers or campers who'd gotten lost, usually.
But they were always driven away by the subtle repelling charms and notice-me-not enchantments that Adrian had into the boundaries of the area. They never stayed long, and they certainly never got close enough to the plantation itself to pose any real threat.
But!
If you considered this discovery in conjunction with the centaurs' prophecy, in light of the fact that today was the day the danger was supposed to arrive, it seemed far too coincidental to dismiss as mere chance.
Adrian's hands began to tremble slightly as he examined the bread more closely, turning it over to inspect the tooth marks with growing horror.
He carefully examined the indentations left in the hardened crust and suddenly discovered a more unsettling detail, the size and arrangement of these teeth clearly belonged to a child, not an adult.
The bite pattern was too small, the spacing between the marks too narrow. This bread had been gnawed on by someone young, probably no older than eleven or twelve years old.
A child?
How could a child possibly appear in this desolate wilderness, living rough and eating stale bread? There were no nearby villages, no homes or settlements within miles of this location. No child would be out here alone by choice or accident.
Unless it wasn't really a child at all.
Adrian immediately thought of one person or rather, one possessed body.
John Selwyn.
Which meant Voldemort.
Adrian became instantly alert; his wand was sliding into his hand. His magical senses expanded, searching for any trace of dark magic or hostile presence. His heart hammered in his chest as the pieces fell into place with clarity.
This wasn't entirely impossible—in fact, when he really thought about it, it seemed highly probable.
Voldemort had been using John's body as a vessel. That body would need sustenance, even if Voldemort himself didn't truly require food.
And if he'd been hiding nearby, watching the plantation, waiting for the right moment to strike, then of course he might have left traces like this. He'd been careful to avoid detection, but not careful enough to account for scavenging animals.
At that precise moment, as if summoned by Adrian's realization, an eerie grayish-white mist began to appear at the edges of his vision. It started subtly, just a slight thickening of the air, a haziness that might have been mistaken for morning fog if Adrian hadn't been paying such close attention.
But this was no natural phenomenon.
The mist spread with unnatural speed and purpose, creeping across the ground like a living thing, moving against the gentle breeze rather than with it.
It mixed with what little natural morning haze remained, using that cover to spread faster, growing thicker and more substantial with each passing second. Within moments, it was slowly enveloping the entire plantation, rising up from the ground in tendrils that reached toward the sky.
The temperature plummeted. Adrian's breath began to mist in the suddenly frigid air, and beside him, Dobby started to shiver violently despite his warm scarf and hat.
The mist carried with it a bone-chilling cold that went deeper than mere physical temperature.
This was a supernatural chill, the kind that came from powerful dark magic.
"Boss!" Dobby cried out in horror, his voice was high and frightened. "What is this? What's happening?"
Adrian also tensed as he surveyed their surroundings with rapid attention, his mind was immediately cataloging threats and calculating responses.
The mist was spreading too fast to be natural, moving with clear intent and purpose. It was encircling the plantation, cutting off escape routes, isolating them from the outside world.
His first instinct was to wave his wand in a sharp gesture and attempt to disperse the fog with a powerful gust of conjured wind. He'd used similar magic countless times to clear away fog or smoke, and the spell should have been almost trivially easy for a wizard of his skill level.
"Ventus!"
But his magic seemed to sink into the mist like a stone dropping into an infinitely deep ocean, having no effect at all.
The wind he'd conjured dissipated the moment it touched the grayish-white fog, absorbed or neutralized by whatever dark enchantment sustained the phenomenon.
Adrian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature.
He suddenly remembered where he'd seen this kind of mist before, and the memory made his blood run cold.
It was during the Triwizard Tournament, during the third task when the Death Eaters had invaded Hogwarts grounds in their attempt to kidnap Harry Potter.
They had used this same dark magic or something very similar to create a barrier of black fog that isolated sections of the grounds and prevented intervention from the professors and Aurors stationed around the perimeter.
Then there could be only one explanation for this mist appearing here and now.
"Voldemort?" Adrian said aloud, turning his gaze forward, toward the northern boundary where the mist seemed thickest.
He could sense a peculiar magical power surging there, a presence that made his skin crawl with instinctive disgust.
This magical power was identical to what he had felt some time ago in the Room of Requirement, when he'd first sensed John's true nature. But now it was amplified, more violent and powerful, no longer constrained or hidden.
Sure enough, shortly after Adrian spoke that hated name, a cold laugh came from somewhere ahead, echoing strangely in the mist-filled air.
The voice was too old for a child's throat, carrying decades of malice.
"It seems you've already guessed I would come, Adrian Westeros," Voldemort's voice said, and there was amusement in the tone despite its coldness.
"How delightfully perceptive of you. I truly didn't expect to find you here at this convenient hour—I had thought I might need to draw you out from that tedious castle. But here you stand, exactly where I need you to be. How accommodating."
The fog began to churn violently now, no longer spreading but instead consolidating its position. It moved in waves and currents, rapidly forming a structure around the plantation.
The mist rose higher and higher, climbing dozens of meters into the air, spreading out to create a massive ring-shaped barrier that enclosed the entire area.
The grayish-white wall of fog rose like the walls of an arena, dozens of meters high, completely isolating the view between inside and outside. The perfect blue sky of the pocket dimension vanished behind the churning gray wall. The warm sunlight dimmed, filtered through the unnatural mist until everything took on a sickly, pallid quality.
They were sealed in and cut off from the outside world. Trapped in whatever battleground Voldemort had constructed.
And then Voldemort's true form became visible, emerging from the thickest concentration of mist like a figure appearing from a nightmare.
The sight before them was deeply chilling, even for someone like Adrian who had faced dark creatures and dangerous magic countless times.
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